To Have But 50 Thoughts in Mind
by JaymeDray
Summary: "I believe the doctor told my parents my brain was only capable of very few rational thoughts. He threw out the number fifty. The diagnosis was some type of 'Savant Syndrome' though they didn't yet know what my area of genius would be." A One-Shot based on the first book storyline. Rated M for good reason. Slash


**A/N:**

**Hello People, **

**I used to be YoungArtist77 but now I am just me, Jayme Dray, , or J.D. I've written this fic a while ago but I always come back to fix the slight errors and add a sentence or two. It's the curse of writing: nothing is ever complete. **

**My goal for this fiction was experimenting with a different format while introducing the concept of the_ antihero_, which Marvel acts as in this piece. I hope to have succeeded at least partially in creating something unique. Feedback keeps me going and puts a smile on my face!**

**Warnings: Rated MA (NC-17) for heavy content, not easily digestible by the common reader, with graphic descriptions of sex and violence. Minors are warned.**

****This piece has been edited again Jan. 22 (2013) **

* * *

_When my bitterly weak mother, with thin blonde hair and spotted skin, gave birth to a six-month fetus they told my relieved family I wouldn't survive. The labor lasted for twenty-three hours—a number which my mother would never let me forget. I didn't cry when I first saw the neon lights of the operating room. I didn't breathe. With wide, glassy-green eyes I surveyed the blurry faces of the panicked nurses. They really did want me to cry that day._

_My mother's visage was not present the first months of my life, spent inside the suffocating glass boxes of the incubators. They told my guilty parents that my brain was not developed enough to sustain my body on its own…it would never be. What they actually wanted to say was that the tetragons she had been smoking out of spite and pessimism had damaged any chance I had of a normal life. _

_Breathing through tubes and raw-skinned from needles, I did live against the odds so the older nurses, who had been the ones to take care of me the first year of my life, wanted to name me 'Miracle'. _

_My parents did not agree. They named me, their first-born accident, 'Marvel' and to this day I have yet to discover why because I didn't need to ask—I had made up my own answer. A year of utter silence, with the exception of the beeping machine, taught me to only trust my own mind. _

_Despite my 'severe' mental deficiencies in dealing with rational thought and attachment issues, I remained one of the prettiest infants ever born, a bold statement in the look-obsessed District of Luxury. I never grew out of my petite frame just like I never grew out of the stereotype that I was nothing more than a pretty face. They called me "good from afar but far from good". _

_My parents' frustration at my constant failure to walk across the room led us to our first psychologist, the old man with wispy hair, metallic glasses and an unshaven beard. He looked at me like I had seen my parents looked at the homeless people crouching on the cold streets of the rich District. He might have been the only one to understand. _

_That day he foresaw for my stubborn parents, seeking a diagnosis, that my brain was only capable of very few rational thoughts. Cornered I believe, he blurted out the number fifty. 50._

_The mangled diagnosis was some type of 'Savant Syndrome' though he had yet to discover what my area of genius would be. That came later…much later. _

_I always wondered if he saw._

* * *

**~To Have But 50 Thoughts in Mind~**

_(A Hunger Games Fanfic)_

**Fifty. **

The ironed clothes lay on my bed lightly draping off the side like the gowns of Roman goddess who I had only seen once in a magazine of the other Districts. My fingers absentmindedly travelled through the dips in the silky material for the hundredths time that gray morning. I liked the peace of the neutral colors but at times I wished I got to choose my own outfits. I wished I had some control. I loved looking at the many different patterns from across the glass window of the store, my palms leaving prints on the material until the old man shooed me away with glaring beady eyes and sneering, mustache-clad lips.

My parents didn't deem me capable enough to manage that task or any for that matter. My distant mom excused it by stating that I had to always look good because my beauty was the only thing I had going for me. Without it, I wouldn't be alive. I never knew what she meant by it. It served to always make me self-conscious and at times I spent hours in front of the mirror, surveying my rosy lips as they twinkled with saliva.

The twins, Silk and Saffron, always got to shop for themselves. Their one condition was they had to always match. A lot of the times they got the shades way off but I couldn't point that without having them constantly repeat to me the names of certain colors slowly and mockingly, with gleaming eyes and smirking faces.

I knew what red was without their generous input just like I knew they wanted me to break down with every one of their attempts. If only they could hear the inner voice, the dark one that spoke to me loud and clear they would know that I understood red. Red like blood. In fact it wasn't merely red. It was between crimson and cardinal, though staring at it I couldn't decide. I just blinked back at their remarks, nodding when they called for my attention.

"Can you say 'red', dumb-dumb? He can't say red!"

I could but I didn't want to because it wasn't red. It was cardinal and that I hadn't practiced how to say yet. I had to hear myself voice it first before the voice allowed me to share it with others. At the moment, the word was mine—secretive, valuable, untouched by their lips.

It was mine.

* * *

**Forty-Nine.**

People liked to stare in District 1; they craved making me the center of their attention. They glared, obsessed, turned around in their chairs and halted in their step. They devoured with their eyes while mine skimmed the uneven floors where the sunrays reflected shimmers. I tried to make myself invisible by closing my eyes like I did when I was a child, when my parents screamed, when I made a mistake. I closed my eyes and the darkness told me I was safe—nobody would get me anymore.

Often it wasn't enough. Often I heard their ragged whispers, the wind singing my name mysteriously. The name that they never called me-they always settled for others. They subtly motioned towards me with their heads when I walked around, holding my mother's hand. I hated the feel of her sweaty, suffocating grasp. It made me cringe but the only time I had pulled away, squirming out of her hold with determined passion, she had slapped me hard across the cheek. The blow had been so sudden that my eyes grew dark, my pupils saw stars and I woke up collapsed in the middle of the street, bleeding and terrified.

"You don't need my support, eh? Stupid boy! You can't even stand on our own."

Everybody had laughed then, hiding their giggles behind their palms while I had swallowed my tears, glaring at her hatefully—the one that was supposed to be my mother. My father, who had remained indifferent throughout the fiasco, had easily picked me up from my armpits, placing me on my shaky feet. He was a big man, tall and gruff. He had once been a contender for the Hunger Games but he never ended up volunteering on his eighteenth birthday when the whole crowd was expecting it. The failure that day had devastated him—he had grown cold, a shell, always reliving his days of glory.

We continued walking down the street again as if nothing had happened. I, a seventeen-year-old boy, still holding my mother's guilty hand. That sunny day marked the last time she laid her hand on me because that was the last time that I willingly left the house when it wasn't an absolute necessity. I refused to look out of the window.

Another diagnosis came in as the flamboyant, blond doctor touched me lightly on my inner thigh, smiling in mock sympathy. I didn't react when his eyes dropped lower. I didn't flinch when his fingers brushed against the middle of my legs. I stayed put and he was the one that flushed bright red. He knew perfectly well that I was too old for his ministrations to be considered innocent but he was like the others. He thought I was too stupid to notice how they caressed my behind, flicked their slimy fingers down my crotch and licked their ready lips when I bit mine in anxiety.

Agoraphobia: fear of being in environments where escape is difficult and/or embarrassing.

That was another term I couldn't pronounce but looking through the dusty old library of my father, I found one that I could:

Homoeroticism.

* * *

**Forty-Eight. **

I had to come out of the house during the 'reaping' and I had to dress up with more than my usual boxers and oversized T-shirts. My mother used to force me to be clothed at home as well, insisting on my presentable appearance but that was when I still had therapists around, screaming insults at me when I didn't complete their stupid puzzles. Place the cube in the hole. Veeeery good. Now, the circle.

It was impossible to not grow tired of them and after a while, I gave up obeying. Instead, I sat on my ass, blinking silently at their impatient faces. They lost their tempers quickly and the more my parents stood on the side, arms crossed, the more they realized I was 'irreparable'. I just wanted them to leave me alone.

Nobody had bothered to explain to me what the Hunger Games represented. I just knew that the people got restless and the noises coming from the walls increased. Until the last year, the year of my eighteenth birthday, I only knew it involved looking good enough to turn the heads of grimy, old men and standing around with blood dripping down your pointer finger. Nothing seemed to happen as we waited under the much-too-bright sun until the sweat made the curls stick annoyingly to my forehead.

This year I saw the ads that our maid snuck in for me to witness. The old woman with sunken eyes and wrinkly hands explained the process, pointing at these fantastically-colorful photos and drawings of children—of heroes. I nodded along her words whenever she stopped speaking. I tried hard to keep my mind fixated on her speech so I could understand most of it. Sometimes, my mind wondered all too easily.

She had let me keep the posters and I hid them under my bed where I lay down during quiet days, staring at the children in the pageant. That was the word she had used to describe it, pageant. To me it was like a video game. You had to fight until you defeated all your opponents—the bad guys. It was a game where I could be an actual player.

I missed having my game around but I knew to shut up about it ever since my mother tossed it out of the open window, hearing it break with a sickening crash. She said I had played for too long, that I was getting fixated. I hadn't understood what she meant until I saw the disgusted looks on my sibling's shocked faces when they noticed I had shat my pants, sitting down in front of the TV for more than a day straight.

I hated not having control.

* * *

**Forty-Seven. **

The surprise was palpable in the air. I heard the explosion of hushed whispers when I raised my hand, interrupting the ceremony and earning a fascinated look from the gentleman on stage. He was dressed in such vibrant colors, the turquoise and the violet merging together fluidly. I wanted to take a second glance. I wanted to walk closer to him, touch the smooth silk on his tie. He was like a ball of light, radiating under the sun. He was different!

As I walked forward confidently, holding my favorite poster in hand with a tense grip—the picture wrinkled and faded—he kneeled slowly on the stage, never looking away from me. He stared right at me—through me—with these strange, fiery eyes. I had never seen that color before, the orange, the color of the sun when it set behind the wooden blinds of my room.

"Stop, you little idiot! Oh, pardon me for that, sir. He doesn't understand, you see. He is retarded. Get back here, you bastard. Marvel. Marvel! Get back here or I swear…"

I could hear my mother's horrified screeching as she battled through the crowd, flailing her thick arms wildly with drunken disbelief. I could hear the symphony of harsh giggles in the background, drowning her humiliation and making her face redden like the behind of a baboon. I could hear my sister's squeaky laughter, grating my nerves like dried sharpies on a white board. But I didn't take my eyes away from the colorful man. He gulped down his hesitancy and rose his invisible, thin eyebrows in expectation, opening his mouth to address me. I wanted him to speak—I wanted to hear his voice.

Before I had a chance to lean into him, my hands on the wooden stage, Silk had grabbed me by my white button-down, dragging me backwards with strength that was unexpected from a fifteen-year-old boy. His big frame, inherited from our dad, was gripping me to his wide chest as I wriggled against him violently, desperately wanting him to let me go. I wanted to tell him that he was suffocating me but I doubted he would listen. His hands were pinching my skin and I felt trapped. The noises around me grew louder. I couldn't breathe.

I knew my mother would hurt me when I saw her again. I knew my father would do nothing to stop it, staring at me coldly from the doorstep. I knew she wouldn't have reacted that way if it was the boy behind me who had stepped forward. She would have been proud.

My eyes burned into tears. The man's glossy lips mouthed something to my trembling frame and before I could stop myself, I had screamed it out loud. I shocked the District into silence, the noises leaving me alone, and made my brother drop me to the ground in a slump, the air inflating my lungs. They all thought I couldn't speak yet I had said:

"I volunteer!"

* * *

**Forty-Six.**

The blonde girl beside me was one of the few people in the District that I had seen before. I had stumbled on her before my house arrest and therefore could recognize her scrunched up, pouty face as she stood beside me, hands crossed, the polished nails scrunching her biceps.

The last time I had seen her she had had glassy eyes and rosy lips, which she had placed above mine in a dreadful three seconds that I thought I would suffocate. I didn't know what she expected from me but her reaction told her I hadn't provided it. She looked broken like a vase shattering against the floor.

She had ran away after her little tasting exploration and I still smelled the cherry Chap Stick she had on. I kept looking back to her retreating form as my mother, unaware of the interaction that had happened while she was negotiating prices for the groceries, urged me to look ahead so I didn't constantly trip.

Back then she had been shorter and less curvy with brighter blue eyes that weren't always smudged in black. She seemed younger. She was wearing pearly white as opposed to the darker colors she preferred to match her heavy make-up with.

The only aspect of her identity that had remained the same was her dislike for my silent face. When the colorful man touched my elbow lightly, urging me to give her my hand, she snarled her white teeth and clutched my hand painfully hard. We stood eyeing each other while the District clapped hesitantly.

Her name was Glimmer and she was supposedly my 'partner'.

* * *

**Forty-Five. **

"You're going to die now, aren't you?"

The twins had been the only ones to come see me later on as I sat in the plush couches of the small, dull room, painted with brownish colors. My legs had been pulled up to my chest in a crushing embrace, my face on my knees. My eyes moved towards the opening door when they strolled in, frowning at me with mismatched clothing. She was wearing lime and he chartreuse. They glared at me with unguarded eyes.

"You're going to die because you are stupid."

Silk had been the first to make his way towards me, grabbing me from my arm and raising me up. I didn't acknowledge them, snapping my eyes the other direction. He was taller than I though I was older by three years. They told me I was short because I was born premature. I didn't know what that meant but I didn't mind being short. It was easier to sneak into tight spaces—it was easier to hide.

"We are supposed to hug you now because you are going to die."

Saffron had been the first to wrap her skinny arms around me and she reminded me of a spider, the touch tickling uncomfortably. I had squirmed slightly, not touching her back. I had stayed put, glaring at her shiny ribbon as it held back her long, onyx hair. Silk had dark hair too, ruffled up more than usual by the way he kept touching it with his hands when he was nervous. He had been nervous then. When spider let go off me, huffing stubbornly, he crushed me to his chest, hurting my ribcage in the process. His hands were shaking and he whispered: "Don't die, please." For a second, I felt bad but then his sister ruined it:

"Say bye idiot. You'll never see us again."

I didn't say bye.

* * *

**Forty-Four.**

When the twins left I had to wait alone in the wooden room until I saw the sun set behind the mountains, the room becoming dark. When the giant, shiny orb hid, it was usually time for dinner and I was allowed to leave my room. I thought about my mother and the smell of her bland cooking. The family would be happier without me. I had heard my parents talk inside their room, the one they didn't share anymore, screaming their lungs out at each other when they thought I wasn't there. When they forgot because I was always there.

Sometimes they yelled when I was physically there too, staring at them sadly, because my mother told my dad I was too stupid to understand what was happening anyway. I stared at them getting physical, the same way I stared at the spider coming down from the web on the corner that they never noticed. Then I stared at the uncompleted puzzle before me where the pieces wouldn't fit no matter how hard I tried. I glanced back when she started breaking plates before looking back at the spider, inching slowly, very slowly.

They said I was an accident. My father said he had tried. My mother said she should have never had me, that God was punishing her for sleeping with my dad by giving her me to take care off. She had said she was a slave to the house and its inhabitants. She called my father a 'faggot'. I had no idea what that word meant so I kept staring at that little spider as it made its way down the wall, hanging by a thin, silver thread.

They would push each other—draw blood. They would hurt the twins, beat them, make Saffron beg, make Silk cry. They would explode until my dad would slam the door of the house, broken and bleeding, leaving us for another few days while my mom cried her eyes red and glared at me with such malice that it kept me up at night. At night when my father would sometimes come in, hug my sleepy frame to his chest and whisper: "You understand, don't you, baby? You understand why I have to do this?"

I looked at him in mute confusion, watched the bruises on his face and the swelling of his lips and the spots running down his neck. I would stare at him with eyes that he said reminded him of retribution and he would run out again, leaving me breathless.

And my mom kept screaming:

"You should have died in that freaking womb! You are the cancer of this family."

And the spider, the spider and the web—Pop. The thread would break and the spider would crumble on the floor so far away from its house on the corner, the one that they never noticed.

* * *

**Forty-Three.**

"My, my. You _really_ are a wonder."

I had heard that line before many times and I had forcefully smiled to it while my mother nudged me whispering 'Say thank you to the nice man, Marvel'. It wasn't new and it wasn't original yet this time my face flushed red and my breath caught short because the person who said it was different from the smirking, smelly men with prickly beards and hairy faces.

He was tall but not awkward like Silk. He was blond but not ugly like Glimmer. He had blue eyes but not cruel like Saffron's. He was dressed in neutral colors but not boring beige like my outfit. He was eye-catching but not confusing like the colorful man. He was stunning. He was like a god—he was a Greek god. And with one wink, he had me staring obsessively with an overly wet mouth and an aching lower stomach. Before I could control it, I had uttered the second sentence of my day, stunning Glimmer into a disgusted frown and making the colorful man, who I had learned was named Cobalt, smile in silent amusement.

"Thank you but I don't compare…" I whispered lowly, averting my eyes.

"I think we'll be fine, Cobby. I'm Gloss and I'm here to help you win, pretty boy. You wanna win, right?"

"I'm good at winning." I tried to explain before his serene snort stopped me short.

Glimmer growled aggressively, sneering, while Gloss chuckled in astonishment. I didn't understand their reactions because I had spoken truth. Playing the forbidden video game, I had never lost once.

* * *

**Forty-Two.**

I was glaring at the wobbly pudding they had laid in front of me. The table was full of contrasting odors, making the room smell of expensive, artificial foods. I had not placed anything in my mouth ever since I had sat down, Glimmer beside me and the two men across, speaking in big words about something called 'the parade'. They had shed off their formal clothes in exchange for softer materials. I could see Gloss' smooth chest from his low V-neck. It started a burning in my throat that no amount of wine could quench.

The blonde girl had wasted no time in shoving food down her throat and I had gulped against the cringe, able to hear the slurps of her lips and the crunches of her chewing. My stomach closed even more and my nose complained against the stench.

People dressed in red placed more plates in front of me and my hesitation was attracting worrisome glances from Cobalt, who I thought should have had blue hair with that name, and Gloss, who I thought had cobalt-colored eyes. They stared and I continued to poke at the food lazily if only to attract their attention more. I craved the little smiles that Gloss threw my way. The third time the men rapidly stared at my untouched plate, my fingers made a move for the fork, touching the cold metal gingerly. I could practically imagine Gloss' approval before she spoke, the witch.

"I don't think he can feed himself. I'm pretty sure he can't even chew."

"Glimmer!"

All attempts towards the utensils halted as I leaned back on the chair stubbornly, propped my knees against the table and hid my red face in my breakable defense. I heard the sounds of their dining after a few moments of hesitation but nobody spoke again until they dismissed us for bed.

My stomach growled painfully all night as I tossed around in bed, hot and feverish.

* * *

**Forty-One.**

"Does this hurt, little one? Do you feel discomfort?"

I shook my head 'no' as they continued to rinse my silky smooth legs, the wax pulling out every hair in my delicate skin and leaving behind red bumps. It did hurt, it ached a dull pain, but I didn't mind the sting much because they had told me it was to make me look good. I liked the thought of that. Beauty was the only factor that I had 'going for me' after all. I wouldn't mind the boost, having seen how gorgeous Gloss was in his fitted shirts and expensive pants.

My eyes drooped slightly before they glanced sideways. I could spot him on the sidelines, looking at the workers preparing my naked form. He was leaning on the wall, his shoulder slumped. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were distant as if he was lost in deep thought. I didn't care to know where exactly his attention was because his mere presence excited me, send a shiver down my spine and built a warm whirlpool in my lower stomach. It made me feel something…

"He's one of those," The coquette girl above me murmured in a quipped voice.

I snapped away from my daze to look down at what the other stylists had stopped to stare at. With pink faces and sweaty brows, they were focused on the size that my member had inflated to, hard and shiny against the glaring lights, flopping upwards on my flat stomach with a delicate curve. I had never seen it that big and judging by the awe in their faces, I was certainly not the only one impressed. The juice from the top wet my bellybutton in a sticky sensation.

"You're a kinky one. It doesn't take a genius to understand what angle you'll play."

They all laughed in unison at that comment but they weren't making fun of me. I knew what that sounded like and this wasn't it. I could sense a different aura in their reaction, one of guilt and desire. Their eyes were almost knowing, dark—so fucking dark. I seemed to be the only one left out of their loop. I looked at Gloss for help but he merely smirked lightly, heading for the exit. And for a second, I forgot his eyes were originally blue because at that moment, the iris was completely overtaken by the pupil in an eclipse of emotion.

I would have cared but the dull pain on my legs was back and I shifted my attention towards the colorful hair of the three that had analyzed me with their strange eyes.

The sticky, transparent drops landed on my stomach like a line.

* * *

**Forty.**

"We will be dressing you up in this pink spandex—Pardon?"

"That's salmon."

His crystal eyes turned towards mine, as I lowered my head, my voice dying in my throat while he cleared his. His silver hair shone in the light and I couldn't help but be amazed at its glittering color. He had dark eyes, underlined with sparkly eyeliner that marked the sides with little stars. It fascinated me and he needed to bring me out of my daydreams often by snapping his fingers whenever he felt I abandoned him.

His hand moved to another fabric, holding it in front of me, as his face filled with a strange shade of curiosity. My eyes rolled down the material presented with interest. It looked soft and silky. It looked expensive and as soon as I reached for it, he offered it to me with a smile, awaiting my approval.

"And this?" He asked gently, his eyes analyzing the way my face nuzzled in the soft fabric.

"Coral…" I whispered longingly. He pointed to another one, continuously testing me, his face beaming with every guess, "Puce… Thulian."

He remained silent after all the shades had disappeared, dropping all the different colored fabrics into a pile and staring at me, hands on his waist. I knew he wanted to ask more so I shrugged beforehand to let him know I had none of the answers he was looking for. I gave him back to first fabric and he looked offended as if I had rejected his gift.

I didn't understand our interaction and I thought about it constantly on my way back to the room. I was just a stupid kid and his reaction was wrong because it screamed that he was impressed.

* * *

**Thirty-Nine.**

He was sitting in front of me, Cobalt on his right, staring at me with a blank expression. I was their spotlight though I had no idea why they had both entered my room at such a late hour. Their presence made me cringe to the back of my bed, my spine against the wooden board, my oversized T-shirt hiding the fact that I was naked underneath it, my smooth, hairless body a layer away. I enjoyed sleeping without my boxer shorts and my mother was finally not there to hurt me about it. She thought it perverse. Fuck her.

I had not answered the door the first three times they had knocked, thinking they would give up and leave, but they took the liberty of letting themselves in instead. Their eyes journeyed around the room and their lips smirked at my squirming self, hiding on the other side of the bed, my shaking hands pulling the shirt down. My crotch reacted to seeing the blond and I hurriedly kneeled on the floor, my chin on the bed covers, my eyes glaring at them mistrustfully.

"Don't be shy. We wont hurt you, baby." It was Gloss who spoke and at that moment, I flushed in anger not embarrassment because for the first time, I thought he was treating me like the rest of them—like I was an idiot.

"We just came in to talk to you a little bit about strategy, Marvel. Later tonight will be your first experience with the other tributes and the sponsors. There's gonna be a parade. We are gonna show you off to the public."

I nodded at Cobalt though I had no idea what he was rambling about. I wanted to sleep; my eyes searched the walls hopelessly. No spider here. Gloss leaned over to reach for me and I flinched back. His eyes slithered up my frame but I was still mad at him. His palm spread on my knee and I stiffened away. Cobalt cleared his throat roughly, growling his name. I looked down in fear and the blond retreated with a pout.

When he spoke again, his voice was a sly murmur:

"Whatever happens, play stupid, okay? Act it up as much as you want. Don't get involved and try to seem well…innocent."

"That shouldn't be too hard, eh little one?"

Indeed, assholes.

* * *

**Thirty-Eight.**

I knew I should have backed away when they first approached me, seeing that it was the only time Glimmer was smiling at me, her eyes the darkest shade of blue I had seen thus far, nearing navy. There was a bounce in her step and her fists were clenched white.

There was a little girl by her side that reminded me of Saffron because they both had dark hair and pale, unblemished skin. This one though had cut her locks short, the strands spiking in the end, while my sister's went well past her waist in ringlets. On the blonde's other side was a boy, a strong boy, and I didn't have time to analyze him fully before the dark-haired one had shoved her crunchy face into my fovea, narrowing her snake-like, green eyes. When she spoke, she hissed.

"Is this him? He doesn't look like a retard."

"Well, what do retards look like anyway? I'm sure he is one. Everyone says so."

"He looks normal." The girl huffed in a bored tone, blowing the bangs out of her face.

"He's not. You should see how infatuated he is with our mentor. It's pathetic."

I didn't understand why they were facing me if they were going to continue addressing each other. Why did I have to be in the conversation?

I allowed my eyes to glide behind their bickering selves to meet his blue ones, realizing that they really didn't need my input. The boy was fit, his biceps flexing inside his huge arms, the skin tan. I blinked, taking in his form with curious attention and his eyes glared at me condescendingly to ward me off. He looked self-conscious. I thought briefly that his disdainful orbs were the same shade as Gloss' but I didn't have time to analyze the discovery because if I looked that way we would make eye contact and his sneer scared me.

"He's useless. Let's go, Clove. I feel like we're at the zoo. It's quite a waste of time," He groaned, avoiding my face. He took the one who looked like my sister away, pulling her by her arm, without sparing me another glance. I stayed frozen, not knowing what to do. I saw Glimmer pout at their parting.

I could breathe freely again.

* * *

**Thirty-Seven.**

I clicked the rewind button again, watching the figures go back in time before hitting play. By now I had memorized everything that happened in the span of ten minutes that I liked watching on repeat. The spiky haired kid ran out of the forest and only noticed the dark-skinned one after he stumbled on his right foot. He had landed on a trap, the fool. They made eye contact before spiky charges the distance of about three feet, his weird, jagged sword in his left hand, swinging over the right side of his body. He missed obviously before he attempted a different technique, dropping the weapon erroneously, ramming into the dark one face first. Tumble, tumble, and tumble. Bodies grappling on the dusty ground. Then the rock was in his hand as the other one smashed the object in spiky's head. Blood. Cannon. Victor.

It wasn't as fun to watch, as it was to play on my gaming console. The right commentating was missing. I muted the TV from the begging and the grunting, re-winding the tape again. As I watched the deja-vu, my mind provided the appropriate words, my mouth moving along with them as my eyes never left the screen.

"Finish him."

"Fatality."

I wished there was another version of it. Spiky and Darky were getting a little overused. I threw the remote against the wall and lay down on the floor, my back against the fuzzy carpet, the strands ticking my ass-cheeks. I looked around the empty room, noting my discarded clothes on my bed, knowing that I needed to get dressed soon—I had begun to shiver.

When I looked back at the bright screen, Darky had won again. I guess it was seventeen to zero.

Damn.

* * *

**Thirty-Six.**

The next time I saw the blond, he came in alone. I had forgotten why I had been mad at him so I smiled lightly when he entered the room. His shirt was fully open to reveal his hairless chest and his toned abs. His hair was ruffled from its usual perfect style and it was dripping on the carpeted floor, wet from showering. His blue eyes were a little glassy as they blindly searched for the lump of me on the frazzled comforters. I noticed curiously that when he walked to my bed he swayed on his step, collapsing on the mattress hard enough to make me bounce up slightly. I could sense his heat and his cheeks were bright red, a huge contrast from his pale eyes.

I didn't make a move. I just stared at him in curiosity as he studied me with his eyes, smiling when he noticed I had had the decency of putting on underwear that time around. My black boxers, tight against my skin, were blatantly obvious with my crop-top shirt ending below my bellybutton. His eyes lingered on the soft cotton material that was hugging my butt. I blushed. I blushed at the way he licked his lips. I blushed thinking about our previous encounter. I blushed vivid red and he smirked further, speaking with a mumbling, drawled tone.

"I'm here to help you practice your winning move, Marvie. You want to do that, right?"

I shrugged half-heartedly, not offering a response. I didn't know what he was talking about and his twangs made him even harder to comprehend than usual. He noted my confusion and leaned in, his skin stretching in front of me in offering. He asked me if I liked him and I shuddered on the spot. He asked me if I wanted him and I didn't know what I wanted. He asked me if he could show me something and when I nodded, he grasped my curly hair in his sweaty palms. My eyes widened when his blistering lips touched mine, much like Glimmer had done that day years ago. This time I didn't pull back.

"Don't be scared. I won't hurt you, beautiful. Close your eyes and follow me."

I did as he advised, sliding my eyes shut as my lips moved against his hesitantly. His hands came up to pull my frame on his lap without breaking the contact. He hugged me to his chest and my fingers ached against his burning skin, seeking more and sliding his shirt off his body. I didn't know exactly what was happening but my body seemed to understand on its own because it rocked roughly against him when it felt the hard bulge on his lap, pushing up against my butt. He groaned gruffly, kissing my neck.

I didn't panic—I rejoiced that with every movement, I could get him to shudder in my hands. His fingers slipped under the cotton, squeezing my butt, while mine scratched red lines on his powerful back. And he moaned out loud, pulling away to regain control, panting heavily in disbelief. But I always grasped him back towards me again, smashing our lips together, using his surprise to take control until he was feeding off my saliva.

"I don't know what the fuck you are but you are good at it," He managed to blurt between his other noises. He was like an excited puppy. He growled and he nipped and he whimpered and he panted. I especially loved when he licked.

My hands slid to his crotch in desire. I wanted to see it but he stopped me, pulling away my palms and kissing them softly.

"You're my Venus. My beautiful Venus."

* * *

**Thirty-Five. **

We were all dressed the same way. We had to line up while they talked to us. I fidgeted in discomfort, staring left and right, because I usually recognized people by their outfits. I was bad at telling faces apart. They all looked too similar, merging with each other in a frightening blur of emotions—bad emotions: fear, anger, despair. Many people had dark hair, dark like the midnight sky. Many people had blond hair, like the morning sun. And now all were dressed the same, like robots, mechanically going through the exercises.

I did notice one blond in specific though, glaring at me in subdued interest, his lips pursued and his nose hoisted in the air. He must have been the blond from the parade, the one that hanged out with Glimmer and Saffron's double, the one that thought of me as an animal in a zoo.

He approached me after the announcements had been made and I blamed last night's events for the way my eyes immediately landed on his full pink lips, untouched unlike Gloss' swollen, scarred ones when he fell asleep beside me. I tried to glance at his eyes but my attention refused to move anywhere else. Gloss tasted sweet, super sweet like cherry-flavored cotton candy. I wondered what the one in front of me tasted like. I bet it was something sour, like salty, cold limes.

"Hey, loser, yo! Are you staring at— You really are a fag, aren't you?"

I didn't even know what that meant but I followed him reluctantly when he sighed, grasping my forearm roughly between his big hands and dragging me behind him towards the other end where the sharp weapons were, where the little ones didn't like going. I saw Glimmer still in pale anger and the other girl sneer when we approached them.

I didn't know why the blond wanted me there but I discovered his name was Cato.

Cato, like the roman emperor.

* * *

**Thirty-Four.**

Cato liked playing with his big, menacing sword. Evil Saffron was named Clove and she liked knives, which fitted her fear-inducing personality. She flung them with frightening accuracy through the heads of the cushion-filled dummies. Glimmer was trying to use the bow and arrow much like the brown-haired girl with the braid who was significantly better at it than my partner would ever be. It seemed that everyone had chosen their weapon way before they reached the battle arena.

While they were flaunting their abilities, I had sat myself on the rubbery floor cross-legged, feeling the textured surface below my fingers and staring at the many tributes maneuvering their way around me. I had counted twenty-four, all with the same dark shirts and the same hopeless faces. They all seemed very sad to be there though they were going through the motions, building small fires and jumping over obstacles. They reminded me of brainless gazelles.

"Aw guys, look at sleeping beauty over here."

I hadn't noticed I was lying on the floor fully until Cato's leather boot made contact with my face hard enough to drip blood on the matted floor. I didn't scream because my voice needed more than a smash in the skull to be forced out of my throat. I did jerk up, whimpering automatically, my small hands on my bruised nose.

The trainers came over rushing, immediately scolding him for the behavior. He froze scared but I didn't pity him one bit even when they slapped him behind the head hard enough to make him flinch his pained eyes shut. Then they looked at me in concern, asking if I was alright. Despite Cato's glare and the way he snarled my District number to intimidate me, I shook my head 'no', letting them help me up with the same hands they had hurt him.

They stood debating for a few seconds, glancing at the two of us, as Cato bit his lip anxiously. In the end, my glassy eyes overrode his falsely innocent ones and when they dragged him away by the back of his shirt, he turned around mouthing 'I will fuck you up so bad'.

I wiped the blood on my sleeve, sitting myself back on the floor with a blank expression.

I wasn't scared of him.

* * *

**Thirty-Three.**

The blond boy in front of me also had blue eyes like Gloss and like Cato, who had yet to return from his little detour. I briefly feared I had sentenced him to death before my attention went back to Glimmer missing every target possible. As I ambled along the arena, I found this boy, the third blond. I pursued my lips trying to analyze the distinctive feature I would tell him apart by. Gloss made my stomach churn and Cato made my heart race but nothing happened when I squinted at the new one. He was blank.

I approached his hulky, oblivious frame, gaping at the brush on his hand and the colors melting on his skin to imitate the bark of tree behind him in stunning accuracy. My eyes shone in excitement and I practically ran to him, startling him badly. His mouth wavered like a fish but ultimately, I decided to call him 'Dino' because his jaw was big and square. He looked like a grazer and I was certain he was as dangerous as the plant-eating dinosaurs.

"You like painting?" He asked when he assessed I was innocent enough. I nodded shyly, flapping my eyelashes the way I had seen Glimmer do with Cato.

I didn't fully answer his question, opting for kneeling beside him and bringing his warm hand closer to my face, staining my fingertips and smudging his perfect work. He didn't flinch at my touch, like everyone in my family used to. He simply stared at my face in curiosity while I looked up at him, biting my lip because I knew I had to talk to make my request known. My throat felt too dry and scratchy. His hand moved to caress my cheek lightly and I snuggled into his provided comfort.

"You want to try, maybe?"

He beat me to my wish, removing the need to talk, and I nodded in frenzy, smiling at him while he blushed at my attention. I moved closer to his body. He stuttered before he offered me the brush, its tip already stained in black, liquid paint. I held it, looking up at him until he stretched his hand towards me. I watched the curves and lines appear magically on his forearm as I dragged the soft tip up his skin, making goose bumps appear next to the paint. He was shivering with every movement I directed and his blue eyes never stopped observing me.

"Pretty neat, huh?"

"Mhmm."

* * *

**Thirty-Two.**

"Don't you want to pick up a weapon, 1?"

I looked at the man when I heard his voice above me. I dropped my brush on the floor. The area was completely covered in absurd diagrams that stretched around my frame up until the wall in front of me, glaringly bold. I hadn't noticed how much ink I had wasted until his voice snapped me out of my possessed trance and I saw the three empty bottles lying sideways, my fingerprints plastered on their sides.

"You have a lot of time in your hands, don't you?" He whispered, motioning towards my visual vomit. I wanted to ask if he liked it but I could spot the mocking sarcasm in his voice. He was staring at me the same way the twins had when they had repeated the word 'die' a thousand times until it lost its meaning. He was pushing me and I was letting him because I didn't care.

He had the bluest eyes I had seen to date, despite the many that undressed me. I inched up on my knees, extending to stare at them. The shirt rode up my flat stomach.

He didn't speak, his sharp tongue tied, and I cocked my head sideways, parting my wet lips, while he leaned down, offering me the chance at a better glimpse. We were close and he kept smirking at me triumphantly as if he had won something. His mouth was surrounded by a fancy, fuzzy black beard that swirled on the sides.

"Yes. And you have very beautiful eyes," I blurted before pulling back sharply and slumping disinterestedly on the floor again. The brush skid across the surface, cutting some designs in half.

I smiled small when his face lost his smirk, caught off guard and utterly ashamed. He wasn't wearing the tight training shirts and he wasn't wearing the black vests. Not a tribute, not a trainer. He was probably somebody important, considering the formality of his outfit.

The referee perhaps?

If so, he definitely had beautiful, gray-blue eyes.

Eyes that would see me win.

* * *

**Thirty-One.**

The next time I saw Cato, he pushed me into a wall, pinning me against the surface with his strong body until I was sure he could hear my flailing heart, crying out in fear. I hated closed spaces and I felt as if he was stealing all my oxygen, his breath fanning against my face.

"I'll teach you a lesson, you little bastard. I'll play it your way. Huh, you'll probably enjoy it too, you fucking faggot."

I wished this word stopped coming up.

The doors of the elevator smashed closed and my eyes shut in panic with them, thinking he was going to slap me, hurt me like my mother had. His breath became harsher and I felt him shuffle with his clothing.

His hands were shaking badly when he grasped my hair. That time, despite my reluctance to use my voice, I did scream lightly while he pushed me down undeterred by the raw quality of my pleads. I squirmed against him, digging myself in the corner, until I felt his swift kick on my shins and my knees buckled, smashing roughly against the smooth floor of the elevator. The song in the background contrasted the chaos; it was a piano piece.

I opened my eyes just in time to see his other hand unzip his pants and shuffle out of his boxers. He was panting in effort and a sheen of sweat had covered his flushed face. His lips plumped with every gasp he took. Before I could open my mouth to gasp in shock, his hardened length was leaking against my lips and I whimpered in partial approval. He was big and straining, each purple vein quivering under the silky, satin skin. My tongue touched the sticky liquid beading on my lips in curiosity, noting the tangy, sour taste of it. I saw his eyes dilate, his stomach tensing to reveal his sculpted abdomen. His entire body was vibrating in carnal desire.

"Eat up, whore."

I knew he wanted to sound intimidating because he was scared—scared to ask for more, scared to look at me because every time he did, his member twitched in response. He wanted to humiliate me but his desire shattered his husky voice and he mewled wantonly when I spontaneously parted my lips, letting his entire length slide in until it hit the back of my inviting throat. My tongue flattened against the underside, sensing the way the large, bulging vein twitched against my organ. I pulled back gently to test the ground, my teeth scraping lightly on the meat. He cursed weakly and I heard him smack his fist against the elevator, making it screech unattractively. I sucked on the tip and he barely controlled his lolling head to look at the increasing, red numbers on the elevator.

They reached his floor; my tongue poked his slit and he gargled: 'more' but it was overshadowed by the 'ding' of the elevator.

He shoved his rock-hard member down his pants with a flinch before giving me another glare as he exited the moving container. I was left perplexed with a goofy smile on my face. His weakness sent tremors down my frame. He thought I had lost but that couldn't be true because he was the one who had moaned for it like a horny bitch, not I.

* * *

**Thirty. **

"What did he do to you? Tell me, baby. You're upset," Gloss murmured.

I stared at him apathetically from my position on the carpet, lounging in boxers, the T-shirt discarded when I couldn't figure out how to turn up the air conditioner. Sweat was running down the features of my stomach. He was standing behind the door, just having entered without permission, and his frame was upside down making my eyes sting at the effort of looking at him. I didn't know how he knew but I was tired of him assuming I was going to blurt anything out.

"Right. You are not in a talking mood. Then show me?"

He moved to sit on the bed, his hand threading through his hair and his eyes still observing me. I smirked at his suggestion, liking the way his eyes shrouded defensively at the sight of my amusement. He was starting to be wary of me and I enjoyed the sense of power that ran down my veins, icing my heart.

I crawled towards him on all fours, noting the way his breath hitched audibly and his frame leaned back on the plush comforter, his palms extended. I licked my lips when his shirt pulled back to reveal his curly trail. His eyes were as dark as Cato's in the elevator so I knew the garbage that would leave his mouth before I even made a move to touch him. I stopped in front of him and sat back on my legs. He exhaled a chuckle, laughing at himself, while I merely smiled a little in encouragement.

"Is this—" He cleared his thought to eliminate the husky quality but failed, "Is this it?" He was asking for it.

I nodded, trying hard to keep a straight face. My hands slid up his thighs slowly, inching towards his crotch. He shuddered, mewling a 'no, bab—no'. My fingers traced the seams on his jeans, undoing his buttons and he whispered my name huskily with a dry mouth. Only he didn't call me 'Marvel' like my parents had decided—he called me 'Venus'. I liked it.

I wondered briefly if he was going to stop me but that thought was discarded when I pulled down his pants and his raised his thighs to help me. I noticed how hard he was straining against his wet briefs. I noticed the way his forearms trembled under his weight. He might have wanted to say stop but he didn't get the chance because my mouth enveloped him fully in the warm cavern, feeling every vein on his member and every droplet escaping his slit. He was definitely sweeter than Cato.

I had predicted right: he had made those same breathy noises, grunting and mewling shamelessly. He sobbed when I nibbled on the foreskin and jerked when I licked down his sack. His hips kept moving up to meet my face, each thrust going deeper, engulfing my nose in his blonde curls, wet with my saliva. He complimented me often and I smiled against his sensitive skin after each whispered word.

When he painted my mouth white, he hissed like a pussycat, his entire body quivering erratically under my soft hands, keeping him together. I kept licking until he begged for me to stop, every extra bob sending a quake through spine. When he opened his satisfied eyes again, I made sure to spit the thick, white substance back on his softening member, watching his eyes turn from lustful to horrified.

The cum dripped from the shiny, softening head onto his trembling, guilty stomach.

I liked him a lot.

* * *

**Twenty-Nine. **

Gloss avoided me like the plague the next morning so I was left flapping my lashes innocently at Cobalt who didn't stop stealing mistrustful glances at my suddenly hungry self. I knew he doubted me—he saw past the innocence that now was solely a front, the dark festering behind it.

Every other sentence that Glimmer stupidly blurted was offensive to some aspect of my personality and I decided to deign all of her jabs with extra loud slurping whenever I spooned the cold ice cream in my mouth. She cringed at my sloppiness and Cobalt glared at my attempts, grunting 'manners' under his breath.

"You are such an animal. Yes, that's what you are. "

"Feet off the table, Marvel."

"Disgusting, little faggot!"

"Stop that. Glimmer, eat your food, _silently_."

"I don't want to be associated with this—this thing. This sub-human creature."

"If you're not going to be nice, you're going to eat in your room alone. As for you, little piggy, one more slurp and the ice-cream will disappear from this table."

I giggled at Cobalt's exasperated face, spitting out the melted ice cream from my mouth back into the bucket, while Glimmer screeched in disgust. Cobalt huffed in annoyance, grasping the carton and taking it away from my frozen fingers. I pouted at him but his expression didn't soften.

"You've had enough for today. Rooms, now!"

But mommy, I wanna play some more with the ugly, blond toy.

* * *

**Twenty-Eight.**

I decided to try holding a weapon the second day at the training room, heading for the rack, ignoring Glimmer's smug face as she pointed me out to Clove who was still trying to figure out why Cato had walked past me that morning without as much as a nudge. I noticed his face was a couple of shades darker, tinted pink, his lip bust on the side. I vaguely remembered that accident happening when he had tried too hard to block his exclamations the day before, his hips ramming me into the wall behind me, his hands clutching my scalp in a desperate hold. I hadn't made a move to approach him again. I let him vent like a trapped animal.

The spear felt lighter than I expected and rolling it in my hands, I felt several eyes on my back. Glimmer was glaring while Clove was smirking superiorly. I saw Cato look away when I caught his curious stare and I noticed the important man from before, the one with the mesmerizing stare, scratch his chin thoughtfully, his pretty eyes never leaving my back.

I considered dropping it on the floor because the attention made me itchy and uncomfortable but I heard Glimmer whisper audibly to the others, scratching out that opportunity once and for all with her spite. I wanted to make her eat her own words. She would be the first one I killed, I briefly swore.

"Look at the retard fail. This will be amusing."

I imagined the target as her empty, ugly head and the spear cut through the air, sticking deeply in the middle, the red circle shining like the blood that I wanted to see explode from her broken skull.

The room fell into silence and I heard the man above mutter to his colleagues about 'beginner's luck'. I didn't try again for them to test their theory. I spent the rest of the day idle, smirking at the way Cato eyed my ass.

Come and get it, big boy.

* * *

**Twenty-Seven.**

I dumped the spear on the ground with an anti-climactic clunk, trying hard to keep myself from giggling at their incredulous faces. I swallowed my amusement, pouting innocently, and shrugging my shoulders in a defeated manner. I wouldn't have to resort to such trickery if they hadn't made me throw the spear. They should have known I was too 'stupid' for such complexities. They should have just let me go when I had asked them to.

Blue-eyed man stared at me in palpable shock, shaking his head with a perplexed face. His voice spoke soft, his temper flaring lightly around the edges of it, enough to warn me of his irate nature.

"It's in your best interest to impress us unless you want to die of course. That can be arranged."

"I want to die." I mumbled adorably, giggling slightly.

They gaped at my sudden voice. I noticed everyone halted from my tone no matter how many times they had heard it before. They made my speaking such a big event and I thoroughly fed off their awestruck attitude. For that reason alone, to preserve its rarity, I never spoke unless it was absolutely vital. Most of the time, it wasn't.

"I _saw_ you throw a spear. I know you can do it. So, please, we have twenty-two other kids-"

"Look, son, don't you have some other talent? Climbing? Fire starting? Anything will do at this point."

I shook my head 'no', walking lazily towards the door without them even dismissing me properly. I heard some of the older men sigh. I could feel his steely blue eyes on my back so I swayed my hips and raised my shirt to wipe the sweat of my brow, knowing that I had just flaunted my hot pink briefs to them, my pants riding half-way down my ass.

That was my skill.

* * *

**Twenty-Six.**

Caesar Flickerman seemed nervous to have me as his first interviewee, seeing as since my arrival at the Capitol I had spoken less than twenty words in total. I saw him gulp before forcing on a smile while the crowd cheered my arrival. I scanned the audience, smiling lightly at the colors, gleaming like melted rainbow. I noticed blue-eyed-fancy-beard man sitting in his usual high and mighty position above the rest of us. He was eying me intensely, his fingers playing with his beard. I noticed Gloss staring curiously at me from the front row, his hands clenched in his lap. I hadn't seen him in a while and when my eyes sought his sorrowful blue ones, he gave me a sad smile. My heartbeat skipped and I noticed in weird dismay that for that one second, that tiny moment of weakness, I missed him. Why had he abandoned me? Why was he like the rest of them?

"Marvel, rumor has it you are not the sharpest crayon in the box."

How subtle. What was the appropriate response? Ah…

"Crayon?"

Laughs, giggles, coos. Some girls threw me flowers. Some boys stared impressed.

"Explain your training score to us. Is this a strategy or are you really not good at anything?"

"Oh, I'm good at stuff. I'm pretty-looking, aren't I?"

Whistles, laughs, cackling. Everyone was suddenly winking, fluctuating with pent up heat. I wanted to look at Gloss but I don't have time. He could have stopped me but he didn't! He didn't...

"Gorgeous! But a zero, my boy? That's unheard of. It really is." I shrugged, pouting petulantly.

"I guess my skills aren't really suited for the arena…"

"And what skills might those be?" Silence.

"I'm good in bed."

Hi, red-faced Gloss who is biting the inside of his cheek. I wish I could bite it for you instead.

Hello, blue-eyed or should I say dark-eyed fancy fucker.

Slap that a twelve, bitch.

* * *

**Twenty-Five.**

I placed a finger on top of his scarred lips when he slammed me against the hallway, his blue eyes angry and vengeful. I knew exactly what he wanted even before he had an idea of it himself. He sought me out after his interview, the rest of the tributes, except Glimmer, still sitting on the cool bench while we grappled in the nearby hallway like wolves fighting for dominance.

Dragging him to my room proved easier than I expected because he started to jog along with me when he realized my intentions, smirking at me smugly. He never let go of my hand, clenching it tighter whenever my eyes sought his smug ones.

He thought he was in control, the pathetic, little fuck. But I would show him. Oh yes, I would.

"You're a hungry slut, aren't you? I didn't know you missed having my load this much. You want it, huh? You little, cocksucker."

His filthy mouth shut up, turning his snappy insults into guttural moans when I absorbed his throbbing member into my mouth once again with renewed vigor. I wanted to bring him to his knees. The minute I pulled his slacks down, I noticed the blotch of wetness beguiling his disinterested front. As I fingered it teasingly, I saw the utter humiliation that passed through his frustrated eyes when he noticed how large he grew for me. My pants didn't even begin to tent and he knew. He could tell I wasn't aroused.

I didn't hesitate to suck, nip, lap and he had to gulp his shattered pride down, his cheeks flushing awkwardly, when he pulled my head back with trembling fingers and muttered reluctantly between his teeth that he couldn't stand up any longer. His knees buckled when my teeth scraped his underside, nibbling on the sensitive foreskin. I had known he would give up easily because I could tell how much his thighs were quivering every thrust.

I didn't mock him then, no, I restrained myself, knowing it wasn't the right time. I smiled at him, a fake, plastic smile, and thread our fingers together as I led him to my bed. He didn't insult me again. When his bum dropped on the soft sheets, I forced his legs apart as I knelt between his knees, yanking his pants to the ground.

With every slurp released in the air, every drop of saliva that ran down his shaft sneakily, every little moan I rewarded him with, my lips still around his member, he drifted further and further into the mattress until his back was pushed up against it, his hands covering his tomato-red face and his teeth marking the skin of his forearm so the screams only came out as purring whimpers. He was more aggressive than Gloss, squirming for more contact and jumping up with whispered pleads. He was more impatient too which made me think he was inexperienced, excited like a little kid.

I knew he was close when he started to whimper at every thrust, his stomach tense, sweat running down his defined abs.

"Show me how it's done, big boy," I growled huskily, my breath cooling his heated groin. A shudder ripped through his body that instant, his eyes snapping open to meet mine in defeated shock.

He screamed my name when he exploded in my mouth, sobbing dryly for me to keep going, for my lips to milk him to the end. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, he knew exactly why he had lost control because he had felt my finger squirm its way into his hole enough to make him shiver, jump off the bed into my throat. He had trembled like a little whore when he heard my voice.

"Leave, please, I want to get some sleep before the arena tomorrow."

He saw himself out, clumsily struggling with his pants, his breath quivering as much as his fingers and his eyes never leaving the floor. I saw how devastated they were and it only made me fall asleep smirking to myself.

I had broken him, the unbreakable one.

* * *

**Twenty-Four.**

The silver-haired man who couldn't tell the shades of pink apart was back to offer me my jacket, standing in the white room, the last location before the Games officially begun. When I marched over to him, he didn't offer me a smile and I stretched my arms to allow him to clothe me like my bitch of a mother used to do all the time.

"I am certain you are aware of the fact that many people do not want you to come of this alive."

I nodded, shrugging in that 'I wonder why' innocent way that had him smirking, his blue eyeliner creasing with his squinted eyes. He had my back, this one. He was like me. He understood me best and I restrained from telling him how many shades of pink Cato's dick had turned the night before. That would greatly amuse him.

"That should be enough encouragement to make you want to return, eh, little Satan's spawn?"

I nodded and he hugged me to his lithe body, kissing me on the forehead with determination.

"See you soon, champ."

* * *

**Twenty-Three.**

The gong went off with a deafening bang. I snapped my head back to Clove and Cato's momentarily scared faces. I smiled and then it begun. Everyone sprinted like a pack of wolves released from a cage, moving at the same time and going for the obvious weapons, the trap—the fucking trap.

Instead of following the crowd, I lunged for the boy closest to me, punching him in the jaw with a sickening crack. He screamed in pain and my eyes gazed at the scrapes on my knuckles. The ruby-red droplets staining the pale skin. I thought of red roses, my mother's coked up eyes, my father's bruised cheeks. I thought of Cato's lip then the scenery glazed over and there was only red blood—nothing else. I broke his neck with one swift motion, hugging him to myself. One.

I felt the embrace of the one behind before he actually made contact with my frame. I anticipated it, my mind visualizing his cartoonish form like the low-graphic characters in the videogame. He startled like a rabbit, stumbling forward when I swished sideways to evade his blatant attack. My shin landed on his chest with breaking strength, cracking his ribs like broken eggshells, and the red yolk bled out. He choked—he gargled. My elbow smashed on his sobbing face and I forced him to end his suffering, grabbing his hand, the one holding a trembling dagger, and slashing his own neck open. Two.

I realized that the weapon was merely a delay—its guilt reeked—so I chose to discard it into a girl's vulnerable bosom, plunging it deep through the middle of her breathless chest with unpredicted accuracy. Her blood squirted out like a fountain of pain, her eyes blanked like the statues that often decorated the fountains. I watched the final jet of red spill from her blue lips. I wish I could wash my hands in those pools, the ones where I could see my reflection. Three.

Four was the young, blonde one I mercifully chose to put out of his whimpering misery, yanking his head towards my chest in a gentle caress. I felt his forehead mar as he watched me with those crystal blue eyes. He was the only one who didn't speak. He stared at me and feeling his involuntary convulsions as I held his limp head, I thought he was an angel. The hair remained as soft as petals.

A young girl slammed into me and that I didn't expect as we both tumbled on the wet grass. The orgy was soon joined by another tribute boy, I think, and somewhere between our fluid, graceful struggling, five and six happened, leaving me breathless under their heavy bodies. I felt their warm blood lather my frame. I felt my shirt stick and I smelled the death in the air. I closed my eyes.

I decided to play dead for the rest of the time because the easy level of the game was getting kind of boring. Did the others make it?

I wanted to kill Glimmer myself—I bet her blood was black like her running mascara.

* * *

**Twenty-Two.**

"So we are keeping him alive because the retard wants us to?"

"No, Glimmer, we are keeping him with us until we find the girl from 12."

"Listen to Clove, blondie, before another cannon goes off today."

"We can kill Marvel too, you know? I mean, that's always an option,"

Glimmer was alive and the 'Careers' liked me enough to spare their lives.

As the blondes argued unnecessarily, wracking in sexual tension, I continued to wrap the white bandages around the third blonde's broken, bleeding wrist. He hissed when he hurt but he didn't whine and I liked that. His eyes turned a thankful turquoise as he observed me tie the knot. They shaded scared-sapphire as he watched the other three Careers frenziedly rant about our survival. He seemed more concerned than I about Glimmer talking trash; he clearly didn't know how low in the hierarchy the ugly hag was. She didn't either. Would sex bring her up, I wondered, watching her cling to his well-shaped form.

Cato had seemed ready to bite my head off with his sharp canines when I stood in front of the three of them with blazing determination, shielding the pleading, painter boy from District 12. He stayed crouched on the floor, staring at Cato's betrayed, blue eyes from the side of my soiled, bloody shirt. The one sanctified by the two sacrifices' blood.

I was certain he would hurt me if it weren't for the fast-thinking reply from the dinosaur behind me, offering the location of his District partner in exchange for our lives. To repay the debt, I settled for patching him up.

"Be careful, tonight," He whispered patronizingly between his split lips, eyeing the sword wielding blond and I shrugged, raising my eyebrows in partial mocking.

If one more person thought I was a fool…I swear—

* * *

**Twenty-One.**

His restrained punch caught me in the jaw, on the right side, and I felt my teeth scrape the inside of my cheek. The growl that followed was raw and feral, catching me off guard as he swung me by my wish-washy jacket, slamming his knuckles on my face before throwing me on the floor like a piece of trash. My butt hurt at the impact but I didn't speak. Not yet. I stared at him in liquid hatred, spitting out the waste from my mouth unattractively to mark my territory. I clenched my fists on the gravelly ground, my nails filling with dirt.

"I'm willing to bet you woke up rock-hard for me, didn't ya?" I blurted without regret and he gasped a small little gasp that sounded like a hiccup.

I could see the shock raining on him from his gnawed lip and his trembling stomach. He snarled in raged fury, his eyes shattering in betrayal at the gulps from Clove and Glimmer, his little fangirls, the ones that couldn't make him quiver with release.

I smirked sadistically when I saw his head dart around where he assumed the cameras situated themselves. He was panicking but he didn't let it show, jumping for me immediately. His hands found my collar. His knee, my side. His body settled on my torso and his fingers scratched the skin of my neck, leaving long pink lines. With all the force he could muster, he repeatedly slammed my head on the unforgiving ground, pulling me up by my now-torn shirt to face him, his fear, before regretting and shoving me away again. I coughed up blood and air, choking in agony. A competition began and we both went for the throat—he physically and I strategically.

"I—You fucker. Found your tongue, huh pussy? I'll show you to talkback. I will kill you, you slut. I will torture you until you beg for me to stop."

"Like you begged for me to keep going? Like you panted for me like a _bitch_?"

"Shut up! Shut your filthy fucking mouth, you _liar! You—_you liar_."_

The other tributes surrounding us trembled at his anger, stepping backwards with a wince at the way his voice broke. I could see that for a second, he wanted to kill me. I could see it so painfully clear that it terrified me—I begged in my mind for escape.

His chest heaved with effort and his eyes seemed too shiny, too wet. The big boy was holding back. We both noticed in morbid fascination that no matter how hard he was shaking, his hands having ripped the shirt in half, his body refused to hurt me any longer, his biceps going against his orders, noticing that the back of my hair was matted in blood.

I exhaled. He inhaled.

We stared each other down before he jumped off me as if burned badly in a stupid experiment, pushing Glimmer carelessly on the floor when she moved to intercept him and running straight into the dark forest, his hands in his short locks.

"Look at what you did," My partner scoffed. I wished he had pushed her harder—hurt her more.

Clove ran after him while Dino-boy raised an eyebrow in confusion. He made a move to help me up. I let him though I didn't need his presence.

* * *

**Twenty.**

Cato, the torturer of my soul and body, didn't manage to fully kill the District 8 girl that we found next to the traitorous fire. He only half killed her because we never heard the cannon go off—he spared her. Walking in the middle of the forest in the dead of the night, we all marched forward, pretending we didn't notice. I supposed it didn't change much—she was injured—but I felt the need to speak up; call him out and put him on the spot because I liked his flushed cheeks. Since nobody made the observation the first five meters, I felt obligated to despite how much I hated using my fragile voice. I felt like every time I spoke, I lost it like Ariel—I lost my beautiful sound; the one that seduced people.

"She's not dead. He didn't kill her."

"How about I kill you, you son of a bitch?" That insult wasn't far from truth—I could allow that.

"The cannon didn't go off, blondie. Death, cannon?"

He froze; Clove ran into his back; Glimmer giggled like an oblivious airhead. Then it settled in and I felt Dino-boy hide inch away from my frame. They all stopped walking and the girls turned towards Cato whose face had paled considerably, his lips parting with nothing to say. He stuttered and he looked at me as if I could mentally kill her from this distance. He wanted to scream his frustration out, ram my face into the nearby tree that the District 12 girl was hiding on, but he couldn't because deep in his gut, he knew I was right. He knew he had fucked up and a part of me felt as if I could taste his bitter regret on my sensitive tongue.

Another punch connected with my gut while his hand came up to clutch my locks painfully between his fingers, dragging my face to match his snarled one. He looked so fucking ugly when his features were so contorted in anxiety. He disgusted me enough for bile to built in the back of my throat. I wanted to spit at him. He was weak to not admit his flaw. Weak, cowardly. He was not a fucking fighter.

Dino-boy went to pick up his slack and finish the job, while he threatened me once again, pulling my hair so harshly that my eyes watered against my permission and his fingers brought out thick strands of dirty blond curls with them, letting them fall slowly on the ground like crispy dead leaves.

I didn't tell him that his greatest rival was perched curiously on the tree right on top of his thick, ugly head. I swallowed my pain and glared at his back while he stomped towards the camp.

I looked at the hair finally reaching the floor. I looked up at her defenseless, gray eyes.

Not yet, 12.

* * *

**Nineteen.**

Guilt would be the emotion I associated with the azure color that had settled on his pretty eyes as he sat on the other side of the blazing fire from my awake, somber form. We stared frequently, he more than I because he wanted to speak yet he didn't know when. He fidgeted unsure—he sulked.

The others had chosen to go to bed when Cato had picked guard duty first. He plopped on the ground and they trusted him completely. I could hear Glimmer's snoring and it made my eyes revolt, stinging in need but I did not inch away from my stoic, statuesque position. I wanted to show him that I wasn't about to make the kill that easy. No, sir.

The silence stretched into the night as the owls announced their presence and the prey hid in fear, trembling in paranoia. I chewed on the plastic-tasting beef jerky, my eyes dancing with the wavering fire. He played with his sword, heating it up repeatedly and watching his spit evaporate from the metal into the chilly air of the night. I cuddled deeper into my jacket. He spit again and missed. He looked up at me. I stared back at him. He flushed. I smiled. He chuckled at himself in mocking. I let him have his moment, going back to the beef jerky.

We stayed in silence again and then he dropped his sword bored of the shiny, now-old toy. His blue eyes were clear and I liked him then. He was good when he was silent. He wasn't good for long.

"What are you…" He started, breaking off to gulp nervously. He licked his lips from their dry state. I raised my eyes to prod him and he said something stupid, of course, "Like some sort of Capitol prostitute or what? Like Finnick Odair?"

My eyes dropped on the floor. I wasn't angry, just depressed at his lack of intelligence. He was great with icebreakers. I looked up at him to see if he was joking but his eyes urged me to say yes. He wanted me to be and I didn't understand why.

"Virgin, actually."

I mumbled my response and simultaneously threw the jerky into the fire, the hissing sizzle covering my decision. He must have heard either way because I saw his eyes dilate before he took control of his bodily reactions. He was so readable. My eyes went to the sky in boredom and when he thought I wasn't looking, he slid his down his tense body to his crotch as if to make sure he wasn't showing me too much. I blinked and he snapped awake. He was redder than the fire. I rolled my eyes at his lack of subtlety, sighing heavily and shaking my head in a hopeless manner. He caught my reaction, daring me to call him out with a sneer. He was becoming ugly again so I stood up to amble mindlessly. What was there to call out anyway? He had called himself out. He always did.

The moment I was on my feet and crossing his side, he pulled me down, yanking my sleeve. I sat on the floor again now beside him, expecting something, anything. He stared at me lost but he didn't kiss me and in that moment I knew he wasn't like Gloss.

I wanted Gloss back.

I placed my mouth on my propped forearms, staring away again, ending the conversation. The chirping sound of the insects was back, his flaming cheeks getting hotter as he leaned closer to the fire, glaring at it furiously. I heard him wet his lips.

Kiss me, idiot.

"Are you really retarded?"

No, but you seem to be.

* * *

**Eighteen.**

I had not expected to run into another innocent girl when I decided to go for a morning jog, smirking good-bye at the deceivingly-innocent-looking blond, sleeping on his ass next to the lit fire. I couldn't remember when he had drifted off but it was funny to see him jump awake at random intervals. He amused me because he was like a little doggy who fixated on certain objects whenever it was confused.

I wanted to get some privacy. My feet had numbed when I decided to go for a walk, keep my body from collapsing in exhaustion. I noticed Clove shifting in her tent with mumbled swears so I assumed she would be out to keep watch. It was stupid that I felt guilty leaving him behind. I blamed how young he looked when he dozed off. He had a tendency to drool on himself.

I had stumbled upon the other girl quite literally, stepping on her fragile, sleeping form and falling chest first on the ground whilst grunting in pain. Her disheveled self squealed in panic like a small duckling separated from her mother. She was crouching on the ground and covering her frame with the thin blanket as if that layer of material would protect her.

I had to break her neck because I would lose my hearing otherwise. She kept sobbing for me to spare her and I thought to myself the video game characters never did that. They fought to the end relentlessly. They seemed ready to go even in defeat, on their knees, with that flimsy red bar as a life.

"Once a failure, always a failure," The voice of my first psychologist run through my ears.

Her cannon shot on the sky to interrupt it rudely. That marked seven for me, making me the highest ranked player. I imagined my pixelated picture next to my almost full life, neon green and pulsating.

* * *

**Seventeen.**

"Do you know what happens when you die? Do you—do you—"

That mangled sentence that he whispered half-asleep marked the most idiotic thing he had said to me ever since our unfortunate meeting.

When you die, you cease to exist, Cato. There is no more. The end.

He was screaming his lungs out at my face for the past thirty minutes ever since I came out of the forest line, showered in blood, my face blasé. They jumped on their feet, pointing and staring openly with angry frowns. I had hoped to make it back before any of them noticed I was gone but I didn't seem to be as invisible as I would wish. I was quickly becoming the spotlight and that was a big no-no.

The cannon had shaken them awake, which meant Cato had lost his angel-like innocence. It was the time of day he rotated each emotion he displayed towards me, that was when he was done giving my body a couple of new bruises. He didn't need a reason to be mad at me—it was a permanent state when it came to our relationship.

"Do that one more time and we'll assume you've left the pack. We will hunt your fucking ass down. I will kill you myself, bitch."

So that was what had gotten his panties in a bunch. He thought I had betrayed them. He assumed I had escaped and that somehow had made him…scared? Lost? Bitter?

His blue eyes were lighter than usual which told me he wasn't merely angry. He was concerned at having fallen asleep in front of me when the cannon clearly told him I was more than capable of taking a life, taking _his_ life when he couldn't take…mine?

He was losing his sanity slowly and I was running out of un-bruised skin.

* * *

**Sixteen.**

The first and last parachute that fell for me was taken away swiftly by his hands. He ripped it from my fingers before I had the chance to figure out the opening mechanism, as he pushed me to the ground in an ungraceful heap. I didn't move to chase him for it because I didn't care enough. The gift was probably something not worth the physical injuries. My stomach already ached with every breath I took and my shin killed as if spikes caressed it with every step. The note with advice I couldn't read because my parents never taught me to. I was too stupid for them to even try.

I tried to analyze his behavior and I noticed in fascination the way his shoulders went stiff at the insides. He did that blushing thing that got me excited and then he licked his lips. I wondered briefly if I should have fought, straining my neck to see the prize that had gotten him in a more bearable mood. But when he turned around, the capsule was discarded empty on the floor and his hands held nothing. Like a magician, he had made it disappear, doing the same with his expression. I knew he hid it in his jacket pocket and I was eager to steal it from him on his next show of weakness. That night when he slept.

When I went for the card, he smirked at me viciously so I assumed he didn't know of my weakness. The letters merged together, the symbols foreign and I sighed to myself, preparing for whatever he had in mind.

I didn't know I could hate him more than I already did. I despised this boy.

* * *

**Fifteen.**

I felt his deep breath on my bare neck as his strong arm wrapped around my waist dragging me to his powerful chest. His hardened length rubbed against my backside as he hissed my name against my sensitive ear and that time I whimpered because I hadn't instigated it. I didn't…know.

His nimble fingers went to undo my leather belt and I squirmed in his hands, elbowing him harshly with erratic nudges. He grunted his frustration but didn't stop and I proceeded to push back angrily until I felt his fist clutch me painfully between the layer of my pants. He hissed in desire as I felt the shock travel up my nerves. I stilled immediately, panting in pain, while his fingers dug into my flaccid member.

"Be a good whore now. Don't play hard to get. You've been begging for it since the beginning," He growled and his lips went to my skin but he didn't kiss—he bit and hard.

I shook my head in fear, allowing another small whimper to escape my throat as his hand clutched hard, touching my raw skin, his arm having shoved the cargo pants to my ankles. My bottom half shivered, naked, while my top filled with panic.

"Excited, little slut?"

I shook my head frantically and he chuckled. I pulled away and he held me tighter. I couldn't escape from his laughter and it sounded so evil, so wrong. He rubbed me underneath my cotton underwear, trying to get me up. His fingers flicked the mushy head but there was nothing. He brought his hand up to spit on it grossly before replacing it on my member. He fondled me but I refused to obey and I heard him growl in pained frustration, biting my neck hard enough to draw blood. It dripped on my clavicle, running down my stomach. I watched it swiftly escape through glassy eyes. His body humped against me and his groin had not downsized at my obvious discomfort. I had to try.

"Let me go! I don't want it. I don't want _you_, you fucker. Get away from me."

I shoved him away and I thought I succeeded but he couldn't be budged and I felt like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill eternally. He smacked me hard in the ass, eliciting another painful grunt from my bruised lips. My heart raced and my mind froze. My skin burned and my knees shook.

"I love your voice—fuck, it gets me horny. You're gonna _scream_ my name tonight, baby."

I heard his pants fall on the floor and I saw his palm enter his pocket to finally pull out the gift from the capsule. I stood still, gulping in confusion, when I noticed what it was that Gloss wanted me to have and I shivered in betrayal when he sheathed his freed member with its plastic, oily substance. Why Gloss?! He had sent a fucking condom and I knew what it was because I had seen my dad sneak the colorful packs in his pockets whenever he went out at night.

"Cato. Cato, please—Cato!"

My voice broke defeated in my throat, transforming into a nerve-grating scream as he rammed fully into me, tearing me up from the inside. My insides stung more than my eyes and my breath hiccupped to the point that it turned into dry-heaving. I wanted to sob and I felt pathetic. My frame collapsed in his hands, close to fainting, the pain attacking every inch of my body, making my fingers shake and my lashes drench in unshed tears. I felt as light as a leaf, trembling in the strong wind that was close to pushing me off the tree. I would fall soon; I knew it.

I recoiled in disgust when I heard his moan of euphoria shower my ear, attempting to move as far as his grasp could allow me but he owned me at that moment—he had me, in me, around me, everywhere. I felt the sickly hot blood run down my thighs as thick as the tears on my cheeks, the first few thrusts leaving me breathless—gasping like I was drowning. I thought about suicide as I tried to hold my breath and set my lungs on fire. I puffed out a shaky exhale and stopped. The world went dark as my eyes glazed over. Seconds flew by and my throat ached in need. He caught on faster than I thought his thick, stupid, ugly skull would notice, observing the lack of movement in my chest.

"Hey, hey bitch! Are you, are you choking? Yo, breathe!"

Fuck you, bastard.

I was so close to the desired unconsciousness when he stopped moving all together in an abrupt halt. He pulled my face towards his darkened one and grasped my jaw between his oily fingers, contaminated when he put on the rubber. His frame shook mine like a ragdoll and I went with it, feeling all and nothing at the same time. I refused to open my mouth no matter how hard he was slapping me in the face, reddening my cheeks. I wanted to just die already like the rest of them. I had done well.

I'm sorry, Silk.

"What the fuck?! You're dy—Stop. Enough, okay? I'm out. Stop!"

I smiled to myself when I felt the darkness relieve me of the pressure. I had no body. I was but a soul, floating freely in the wind and they couldn't get me anymore. I tried to concentrate on my surroundings, the last I thought I would see. I could sense the wetness on his face, dripping down his chin. I could note the shaking of his two fingers as they pushed against my pulse. I could feel him softening against my shaking thighs, his member dripping in blood. And I could hear his desperate voice, repeating the same words like a broken radio. He had lowered us to the soggy ground, holding me on his lap, rocking me back and forth with his anxiety. He was lulling me to sleep.

Never wake up. Just sleep.

"Marvel, please. Please, baby, please. Breathe. Don't do this—I'm done, please. Don't do this to me—"

"Need—

"You."

My lungs filled with air, my mind shattered into darkness.

Everywhere burned.

* * *

**Fourteen.**

I limped slowly, following their path, the ground destroyed by their sprinting. I didn't want to come at all but that would look suspicious to Clove and Glimmer who already stared at me strangely when they noticed the way Cato went out of his way to not be in my presence ever since the night he fell asleep with my broken frame in his arms, covered in my blood and drained from his own tears.

"I would have preferred death."

I looked towards the Dino-boy from District 12 as he motioned toward the area that prevented my walking, his eyes cringing in disgust and fluttering in pity. I wasn't in the mood to indulge him but he was the only one who had stayed back to keep up with my slow pace, occasionally picking me up from the rough, rained-on ground. The other three had run forward excitedly after having spotted the girl with the braided hair, the one I was certain Dino-boy fancied. I longed to see their interaction for the first time—have something else to sadistically pity other than my own broken frame—tired of replaying the same painful memories in my head, re-living the pain between my legs and the fear in my chest. I hated how weak I had been and the thing that burned most from that night was the trail of tears torching trenches on my skin.

"Trust me, I tried."

"How have you not killed him already?"

Patience, fool. All in due time.

* * *

**Thirteen.**

Her blue eyes looked down at me from where she was perched like a little mockingjay on the tree above us. I sat on the dawn-moist grass below, returning the stare, my green eyes stinging from the lack of sleep. How long had it been? Two days? Three? Too long—I needed it. I craved it.

I turned to gaze at the others of my 'pack', the fools I was stuck with, snoring loudly and laying on the sheet of leaves without a single worry in the world. Sheep, lambs, deer.

Cato had been the last to fall asleep like always, sitting beside me awkwardly, flushing and stuttering. This time I found none of it beautiful and I glowered darkly, wishing I could do more to hurt him.

"Aren't you attracted to me at all? Don't you? Don't we?"

He stumbled. Don't we what, bastard? I stared at him blankly while he pleaded that I save him—tell him something so he didn't feel dumb in front of the cameras. I looked away and he voiced something between a sigh and a sob, like a strangled mutt. I had wanted to roll my eyes and sigh but that would be rewarding him.

Yes, he was good-looking but he was so full of himself and his personality, his temper, his entire demeanor…vomit down my throat. He always seemed to be angry about something just like my mother who I would never see again if I were lucky. I hoped she was having fun being left hanging by my broken father. I hoped she was beating the shit out of the twins until they finally snapped and cut her hands off.

"Am I like bad at it or something? I would like to think I am attractive…not as good-looking as you by any means…but I—I want you to—I'm hot, ain't I?"

I chuckled maliciously to myself as he continuously rambled, venting all his frustration to my silent face. He liked digging holes for himself and I found that amusing as much as I hated him. I think he noticed my unsympathetic reaction because he pushed me viciously sideways before standing up and plopping on a different tree, glaring at the world's unfairness.

Poor. Fucking. Kid.

When I made sure all of them had passed out like innocent little mice, lying in the open for the pussycat to get, I motioned slyly for the Tracker-jacker hive decorating the thickest branch of the tree. I wasn't surprised when none of the others noticed. I was done being surprised.

She stared coldly and I gestured more roughly, facing my palm upwards in disbelief. I started to think she was an idiot when she finally made a move towards it, slithering up the tree towards the venomous creatures and cutting the branch, her eyes a mix of mistrust and gratitude.

I waited for the frenzy.

* * *

**Twelve.**

Three…Two…One…

"Run, guys, run!"

I saw his blue eyes snap open in panic to stare innocently at me. For a second, I felt bad—I felt guilty because he seemed so lost, looking around the area, his hand clutching my sleeve instinctively. I yanked the material out of his grasp and similarly pushed the emotion aside, thinking of his cruelty—knowing what he had done with those hands.

It was my time to play.

"Cato, run, babe!"

His eyes widened at my sharp sentence, his head nodding instinctively towards me as if _I_ had given _him_ an order. He didn't hesitate long enough to check his surroundings, foggy with disturbed sleep. He didn't flinch when the first one landed on his neck, sinking its venom-filled stinger deep into his reddened skin._ I_ flinched and only after that he felt the pain. I displayed to him my most concerned face and that combined with the broken sound of my voice had him sprinting towards the other side of the meadow, screaming for the others to come. He cursed every time he slapped at his body to stop the stings, whimpering defenseless.

Clove screeched wildly with blotchy cheeks, wiping at her ruined face, while Glimmer sobbed uncontrollably, sprawled on the ground, struggling to get on her feet. I backed away towards the forest, grabbing the just awoken Dino-boy, dragging him with me towards safety with more effort than I thought possible. I was saving his life yet he made it seem as if I was killing him. His form kept squirming annoyingly, his hand shaking in mine.

"Katniss. I have to—Katniss!"

"Hush, silly boy."

After my grunt, his blue eyes turned towards me in fear for the first time while I threw him on the ground, pushing his ass on the floor and glaring at him meaningfully. He made to speak and I placed my palm over his mouth so hard that I felt the condensation of his breath into my sticky hand.

He gulped but didn't move and I nodded towards him, running back to the scene in time to see the blonde bitch. The one who thought she had everything and for one moment, she did. She hadn't made it like the two that had disappeared. She was abandoned, crying on the floor, her arms flailing like a fish without water. Tears streamed down her swollen, deformed face.

I crouched by her side, ignoring the small stings on my arms—I could endure what she couldn't. My hand caressed her bloody hair with the same sensitivity that one would touch an abused stray. Her eyes widened towards my pleasant face, horror layering on top of her pain, her pupils dilated against her reddened whites. She stuttered and for a second I thought she was the one that couldn't speak.

"Help me! Help me, Marvel! I'm dying. Help. Me."

Yeah, I don't think so, hag.

"But Glimmer… I'm retarded. I wouldn't know _what_ to do."

"No! No! Please! Save me! Cato! Cato!"

She didn't know that the blond was already mine—mine and no other's. I tried to make it fair, oh fair maiden but he needs a knight—not a princess. He needs to be saved.

Her neck cracked as loud as the cannon that followed and if it weren't for the Jackers claiming their territory, I would have fully decapitated her, kept the head as a souvenir.

Eight, right? Eight.

* * *

**Eleven.**

"She is not responding. What do we do? What? Marvel!"

'Peeta' happened to be Brontosaurs' real name. At least that was what the barely-conscious Katniss had mumbled when she spotted us, the blond dragging her frame into his arms while I stared down at them in mock worry. He decided it was safe to reenact the entire Romeo and Juliet finale while we were in the lair of the Jackers with livid Cato running around free. I was starting to get tired of his sentimental pleas. Judging by her spotted face, she had been stung a couple of times—not enough to die. Judging by her even breathing, some leaves would take care of that in a couple of days. She would live and then I would have to drag around a party of two.

I sighed and he looked up at me again with such blue, blue, baby-blue eyes.

From his desperation, I deduced that Dino-boy did not know about the side-effects that the venom induced because his concern only spiked when she mumbled and screamed frantically, pointing at nothing but thin air. She was loud and he even louder. I looked around anxiously, hoping Cato would not decide to investigate my convenient disappearance further. I should not have called him 'babe'. I had created a fake attachment that might have drawn him back to 'save me'. I shouldn't have called to his guilt. I mentally scolded myself.

"Here, have her take these. I was saving them for myself but she seems to need them more." It was a gamble but there were few options.

"Are you certain? Thank you. Will she get better? Where are you going?!"

"I am making sure we won't be sliced open by Cato. Stay there. You're safe. She'll be fine. Force it down her throat fast—you're losing her."

He nodded at me rapidly after every order and his eyes smothered in unparalleled appreciation that I did not deserve. I was a murderer.

I choked, looking away so it didn't affect me. My legs ran on the opposite side of the Careers, my heavy bag strapped on my back, as I sped through the vivid-green forest, alive with creatures. I kept looking back every now and then, fearing that I would be chased—hunted down for all my sins. It would be any minute then.

The cannon shot off the moment I stumbled on my knees. I didn't think too much of the correlation but I did chance a small break to gain my ragged breath. The forest was silent—dead but I could practically hear his uncontained sobbing, his tears raining over her body. He probably thought he killed her—he wasn't fast enough. He was probably burning in feverish guilt, shaking her cooling corpse and pleading for her to wake up, open those mistrustful eyes again. I didn't let myself relate. I couldn't start feeling bad. That would be how she would get me if I did—if I slept.

Instead, I squeezed the rest of the blue berries in my hand, watching their lethal juice color my palm. Nightlock, Bronty. You as a plant eater should have known that.

You did kill your own girlfriend.

* * *

**Ten.**

I heard her come closer, her boots crinkling the leaves of the meadow. My form was facing away from her sneaky self to attract her, make her think I was the prey. The sharp dagger was clutched in my chest and my eyes were wide open, facing the dark forest as I waited for her to approach. I knew she would make a move but I wasn't sure if she wanted to kill me or merely steal some food. I had seen her hesitating to swipe some back at the Cornucopia. Back then we had been way too many.

The night was silent and I could hear her heavy breathing, alive with fear and anxiety. The wrapper of the sandwich chimed alerting me to her position and I spoke before turning around. I didn't want to use the knife unless I had to. My spine tingled at the thought of an ambush. My fingers burned at the thought of more blood—my throat dried up.

"Stealing from the Cornucopia would seem more noble. Don't you think, redhead?"

Her breath hitched in her throat as the animals silenced. She jumped away. I saw the knife in her hand, pointed towards me in warning, her eyes off-guard and defensive. I did not move from my position, lying down on the matted floor. My hands started sharpening a stick lazily. She observed me like a cunning fox. It seemed that nobody wanted a confrontation these days.

"The supplies are rigged. You know that as well as I do. Where's your pack, stupid boy?"

"I'm going solo from now on. They have reactivated the mines—ten in total. Try jumping where you see footsteps. They are injured now; they won't stop you."

Her brown eyes widened at my information but her lip still remained snarled. She didn't trust me because she was smart enough. I was just hoping my apathetic pose combined by her perception of me as 'innocently dumb' would serve to my aid. It did.

She nodded swiftly in mutual understanding, moving aside before running off to presumably where the main base of action was, where Cato was struggling to lick his wounds clean. I went back to lying on my side, using the sharpened stick as a pencil and carving out the dirt.

Best result would be she blew herself up alongside the supplies on mine number eleven that I conveniently forgot to mention. Oops, the retard made a mistake. Worst result would be somebody. Clove, killed her. Then the pixie was crippled as well.

Either way, she died.

* * *

**Nine.**

She had been too easy of a kill, wiggling in tears from under the net I had setup the day before. She had been too naïve. She had not even tried to fight back, instead pleading for me to make it fast. Once again, I thought of the relentless video game characters but my vision was quickly changing. They would always beg, these ones.

I knew she was working with the other boy from her District though, Thresh. I had seen how he treated her, helped her in the training rooms and smiled to her from afar. I had noticed the way she clung to his frame and the way he picked up her up when he made for the forest, leaving all of us behind to fight it out. There was a bond there that I had only seen when Silk and Saffron were really hurt—the tearful, caring bond. I had to break it so I had to wait for him to pay his respects to the body of the little child he left behind. I had to present the corpse so when he came to the viewing of her funeral as she lay cold underneath my hands, he would lose it.

I had managed to cut her neck open without getting too injured because she stayed still. She watched me do it with open, fearless eyes and the flicker of light before she stopped breathing told me she was grateful. With her spirit gone, I was left self-harming, hissing my breath and biting my cheek at the pain that my own knife was causing. The hardest thing was hurting your own body and feeling your own pain. It went against your core.

I didn't aim for my legs, knowing I would have to use them soon. I slashed in the chest area, smearing my face with blood and turning my features into devastated ones, crocodile tears leaking down my face.

"No! Rue. Please, wake up! No. You can't die," I imitated what I had heard Peeta say to his unconscious love.

I heard him sprinting towards us restlessly, screaming her name. I took a deep, bracing breath because I knew I was gambling again. I was depending on fate too much because I was weak!

I smashed my face into her bloody, small chest, gripping on her soiled clothes and sobbing dryly for her to 'come back'. The knife I had used to cut my own flesh more than hers lay below her body in close reach. My green eyes stared at his frozen, gigantic frame through my blonde curls. His face broke into anger. I clutched the knife until blood seeped down my sleeve.

"What happened? Rue! What did you do?!"

I startled more violently than necessary, fearing I had blown my act. The tears kept streaming down my face as I whimpered at his sight, crouching to her form and dragging her with me on the floor, my amused eyes acting scared for his sake. He raised his shaking hands in peace but I kept pleading insistently like a little child, secretly hating the snot that was on my lips, wanting to end the misery so I could spit it out. I was gurgling on my own fake sorrow and it was more bitter than the real one. I was a phony.

"Please, don't hurt me! Please, please. Clo-Clove killed her. She hurt her. I didn't do anything. I tried—I tried to save her. I swear. Thresh, please."

I guess I reminded him of her because he spared me that day.

* * *

**Eight.**

He was a bitch to find. I got badly lost in the dense forest, staring at my footsteps as I circled around the same, woodland area. I growled every time I saw the same marks on the trees. I was running low on food and I feared for a second that I had overestimated myself. I knew he wasn't dead though—I had to find him, my broken ghoul.

When I did actually spot him, bleeding profusely and limping like a cripple, his face exhausted and fragmented, my heart actually skipped a beat, a beat I chose to ignore for the sake of my life. I couldn't start developing Stockholm's Syndrome. I couldn't start developing anything—all was weakness.

Nevertheless, I screamed his name desperately with the voice that he claimed excited him. He startled with a relieved sob and I ran into his trembling arms, his sword dropping on the floor when he spread his arms for me. He held me against his gasping chest, so tight that I knew it was hurting him but he didn't let go. I could see he was buying my façade because I noticed the flicker of affection in his baby blue orbs, melted liquid into a permanent complacent state.

"_If you wanna cross a bridge, my sweet,_

_you gotta pay the toll."_

"Shit, Marvel. Where the fuck have you been? Are you okay? Fuck, baby. Clove's dead. Glimmer's dead. All the supplies have exploded into oblivion."

I didn't do anything but snuggle his dirty shirt, nuzzling his chest with a wet face as he continued to replay to me information I already knew. Events I had caused to happen. His eyes seemed skittish and his body's adrenaline was making him shiver in worry. His hands clung on the back of my shirt, caressing my neck and hair.

"_Take a gulp and take breath and,_

_go ahead and sign the scroll."_

He thought he was protecting me but in actuality _he_ needed _my_ presence. He had not prepared himself for the possibility of fighting alone so early in the game. He was lost without a pack to intimidate. He was insecure without people worshipping every decision he made. He had regressed with every progress I had made. He was the young boy now.

"_Flotsam, Jetsam, now I've got her boys,_

_The boss is on a roll!"_

"I knew you were alive. I'm so glad I found you. I'll keep you safe, don't worry."

I nodded to his statement, laying a kiss on his neck, feeling his pulse spike up reflexively, his eyes dilating. His hands held me tighter against his chest, his face leaning in for a kiss, and I had to stop him. I didn't want to fall just yet. I voiced my final verdict.

"I love you, Cato."

"_This poor, unfortunate soul."_

* * *

**Seven.**

"I want you."

I felt his skin shiver in goose bumps, his eyes squinting shut against my working mouth on his bare neck. He groaned in pleasure, his erection twitching below me as I sat on his lap, trying my hardest to get him to lose control through my seductive rubbing. I danced gracefully on his frame and his hands scratched down my back from where they were holding me flush against his naked chest. The fire warmed up our forms but we didn't need its heat. Everything felt sticky, moist, on fire.

"Last time you got hurt. We should wait. You don't know what you're saying."

I sighed, nibbling on his ear lobe and making his words hiccup. I could suck him off again but I doubted he would be as passed out from that activity. It didn't really require any movement. It had to be sex—he had to have sex—and I was willing to burn the buns for the ritual to be realized. Sex was what attached people together—it was the ultimate sacrifice. If I let him dominate me, a worthy opponent, he would be locked in. I knew I would hurt, predicted I would be handicapped, but it didn't matter. I would be his in theory and he would be mine in real life.

My tongue lapped around his perk nipple and he growled, grasping my hair and pulling my face towards his. I had to kiss him them and our lips mashed together, the saliva transferring from our mouths and dripping from our parted lips to our chests. Whenever we pulled away, I saw that string of sticky drool connecting our mouths and it only excited me to move in again, invade his mouth and make him moan loudly. He was holding it in, knowing I had made fun of him last time, but I wanted him to lose it. I wanted him to scream so I could swallow his pleasure.

"I wasn't ready then. I am now. Please, Cato. Don't deny me this."

His hands squeezed my ass and I was surprised to note I had mewled at the contact. It had made my toes curl in instinct like the feet of babies when you tickled them. He wet his boxers at my approval while I scoffed at myself, vowing to get better control. I thought I needed to hold back but like everything I made use of that weakness. Only once I realized that every noise I delivered drove him further down the insanity tube, his body burning against mine, did I open my mouth to encourage him further. Then my exclamations were as frequent as the chirping of the birds and as loud as the howls of the wolves in the distance. And suddenly I knew what to say.

"Come on, big boy. Fuck me."

He lost then, drowned in a sea of desire. He rammed me against the nearby tree, one of my legs on his shoulder, my nails scraping his back, as he entered my tight hole repeatedly with relentless vigor. Halfway through I didn't have to fake my pleasure anymore, panting against him, staring at the sweat, dripping down his flexing, powerful chest. He could support me solely with his biceps and the thrusts only got more powerful, as I climbed up that spiral of pleasure.

"Harder, bitch. Fuck! Fuckin' love it, big boy."

He marked me hard when he came, jerking up violently and crushing me against the trunk, his little whine reaching my ears through my flesh on his teeth. I felt his cream roll down my thighs and I looked down to notice the sticky white substance, thick and viscous, settling on my stomach. The sight made him purr in approval and I kissed him because I wanted to for the first time since I met him. I kissed him and I liked it more than anything.

"If I had known you liked it that much, I would have done it long ago, Marvie."

I smiled at him while blushed.

I knew that I had him at his most vulnerable.

* * *

**Six.**

The blond was laying on my chest, sleeping peacefully, his frame heavy on my lungs, preventing me from making any rash movements. As much as I attempted to shift during the night, he would always pull me towards him and cling to me like a parasitic worm. I had started to sweat from the heat and the frustration. His face was on my shoulder, drooling on my neck, and I cringed at his little moans.

Fuck me.

"Cato."

Baby?

"Baby, I have to pee, please. Nghh."

Move away from me, you leech. My bladder is exploding.

He finally stirred awake long enough to jump away and I sighed in relief, stumbling on my numb legs, cursing at the painful tingling sensation, while he dropped to sleep again, mumbling 'come back soon.' He didn't bother to note where he was: the Hunger Games, and how he was: alone.

I didn't expect another blond to see my member so I flinched when I heard his raspy whispers, emanating from the bush on the other side of my yellow waste. His blond eyes were swollen from grief and fatigue, his lips scarred from his teeth. He trembled in the cold, cringing into his jacket. He looked gaunt and frail. He looked like the messenger and for a second, in my sleepy haze, I thought he had come to take me over to the other side. I thought Cato had killed me before I had the chance to kill him.

I had to make a decision otherwise one would be made for me. He had found us and suddenly he had been so close! So, so fucking close. I had almost miscalculated.

* * *

**Five. **

"You little shit! You fooled us all! _You_ are the devil!"

I strangled him further, trying to shush his voice from waking up drooly Cato, cuddling the sleeping bag. I was telling him to hush, that it would be over soon but he kept rebelling and just when I thought I had figured it out, I was thrown in a loop again. He wasn't like the rest. He was fighting for his life! His blue eyes had turned crazed, narrowed and glaring at my struggling face. His body was moving against me but my legs held him on the floor as my arms suffocated his organs from the much needed oxygen. He heaved.

He needed to die and fast. Why wasn't he just giving up already, his eyes resigning in tears and his breaths slowing to nothingness? He was adamant to throw me off, his nails scratching my arms deeply so the blood ran down the marks and onto his possessed features. His flailing torso was making me ride him like a raging bull.

"I'm so sorry, little dinosaur. Please, die now."

His breaths came in shorter, ragged, his body convulsing. His eyes flared in rage and I could see he thought I was psychotic. Was I?

"Marvel. Are you okay in there?"

We both panicked at the intervention and he tried screaming, his voice raw and raspy. Why would he scream? Cato would never save him. My nails dug holes into his neck and by the time the cannon struck I didn't know if I had blocked his airway or cut his jugular with my bear hands. I didn't care. I didn't need a weapon—I was becoming one.

"Marvel! Shit!"

I snapped my eyes to Cato's shocked ones as he noticed the corpse under me, bleeding from the neck, its eyes accusing and angry, blank from life. I cursed in my head, my breath catching in my throat, my hands shaking. I lost control and in two seconds of weakness, I was sobbing out loud to attract his body to mine.

"Why are you crying? Are you hurt?"

I was crying because I actually seemed to care about killing him. I was feeling remorseful and I had two more to go before I could drown in the consequences.

* * *

**Four.**

I knew I had grown weaker since my arrival, my heart softening, my hands shaking with every life I took. I realized much to my dismay that I couldn't just slit the blonde's throat as he slept peacefully next to me, the rosy lips having kissed my tears away. He had grown soft and somehow, I felt like a traitor stabbing him behind the back. That wasn't the honorable way but then what I was about to do was far from it too.

As I stared at the sharp rocks in my hands, I gulped my doubts, squinting my eyes and making the decision. If I weren't strong enough to end his life then I would let fate resolve how the Games were going to end. I had been the instigator up until I killed Peeta and I noticed that the nightmares enslaving me with those blue eyes would drive me insane before I even left the arena. I had only a couple more days left before something snapped.

Snapped like the objects in my hand. The rocks collided against each other, the spark created from the friction jumping on the pile of dry leaves to enlighten in it flames. Red flames that released a dark smoke in the sky, signifying an omen.

I took one look at Cato's sleeping form, his blond hair tussled lightly and his fists clenching the blanket. I laid a kiss on his brow—a shallow kiss that he unconsciously smiled too. Then I sighed to myself, biting my lip open, watching the red droplets land on his cheeks, before running for the forest as fast as I could. Running like a coward from something I wasn't strong enough to complete.

I didn't think of it as betrayal. I thought of it as sacrifice to the gods. I thought of Cato as my Isaac and that dulled the throbbing guilt.

* * *

**Three.**

I gaped at the hologram of Thresh, frowning at me from the sky, the anthem dying in the background. Cato had managed to kill him, defenseless and asleep without any weapons lying around. Cato had won that battle fair and square and I was left glaring at destiny for leaving the two of us as the only people standing. A part of me, deep inside and hidden, screaming in pain, had known all along this was how it was meant to end.

I had hoped weakly that the blond would die, taking with him that flicker of hesitation, that whirlpool of control. He was starting to become a pain, emotional and physical. He was starting to become part of me—an extension of my loud thoughts. He was starting to take me with him, divide me, tear me apart from the inside, leave me in shreds.

I kept breaking the grass underneath me, my eyes blood-shot from the lack of sleep, my limbs lethargic and paralyzed. I couldn't wait to return to the plush beds I had lain naked under the moonlight. The plush-beds I had made Gloss tremble, stain the silk covers with his sweat.

I imagined my life in form of those decreasing rectangles in the video games. I was at the end of my supply but looking on the other side of the screen, I could see he was worse, holding on by a flimsy, red shred. I had to hunt him down. I had to…

…finish him.

My fingers played with the grey-blue crayon the sponsors had sent me, twirling its solid, waxy frame and sharpening its dull top. I drew a blue cross on top of my heart, smearing my chest in blue and blood.

I marked my path and now there was only forward.

* * *

**Two.**

We sat in front of each other, one of his legs broken beneath him, his torso showered in fresh blood, his left eye squinting against the blue, swollen bruise. Thresh had injured him immensely and staring at his condition at first had made my stomach drop in guilt and my heart ache in panic. I actually picked him up when he stumbled, trying to approach me. I felt his heart against my stained, remorseful hands, hammering against his ribcage. He had no weapons held against me, his scraped fists the only thing left to defend him, clutching my collar aggressively. His eyes were pained and mine submitted in guilt.

I really was sorry for everything, for letting him die.

"You betrayed me."

"I had to save myself."

"You lied to me. You fed me to the enemy. You fucking betrayed me when I needed you the most."

"I had to save myself! I had to choose! I had to pick _me_!"

"You heartless bitch. You—I fucking loved you."

"No, Cato. I loved you. You just went along with it."

"You—you? You never loved me. You never loved anyone. You really _are_ cruel."

"I'm sorry but there's only one winner. I have to win. It's what they want."

He chuckled bitterly with pained eyes. I felt the blood run past my fingertips from where the shards of his crushed heart had entered.

"What the fuck are you? Because you are not a retard. You are…I don't even fucking know! A sociopath! A demon!"

A demon, Cato? Does that make you the angel then?

His face was terrified and I blinked at him innocently, pouting at his harsh words, my eyes big and glassy. He was being mean again. He was turning ugly and you were only supposed to love pretty things.

"I'm now the sharpest crayon in the box."

He didn't speak again because the sharp end of the blue crayon had laid a thick blue line on his neck that was quickly covered in squirting blood as his skin broke, his jugular exploding on his body, collapsing his breath and staining my face with dots. His eyes screamed of retribution and I feared the many times they would haunt me until I died and joined the rest of their souls.

The cannon went off and I rose on my feet, looking at the sky in disinterest.

They didn't look down.

* * *

**One.**

This time around Caesar seemed even more anxious than the first time though I couldn't imagine why. As I walked down the stage with a smile on my face and a suit on my body, I waved at the excited fans, wielding colorful 'welcome home' banners. The crowd waved and cheered, the girls giggling when I winked in their direction. My grasp on Caesar's hand was stronger than the first time, my chest held high and my lips pursed in amusement. He could tell the difference and it was as if he could feel the dark poison, leaking from my body into his.

"Marvel, my friend. I must say, you scared the shit out of me in that arena."

"You flatter me, Caesar. I did what I had to do."

"You sure did, you sure did. Tell me, who was the hardest kill?"

"Cato."

"Because you loved him?"

"Because I might have… I didn't have time to explore it further. A little busy keeping my head attached to my body, you know?"

"Still as humorous as ever I see."

"I'm happy to be alive. I'm enjoying the food, the showers, the colors, all the pretty ladies in the audience. I'm just pumped to start a new life."

"New life, huh? So what happens to your future, now? What's waiting for you back home?"

"Umm, I was hoping to stay in the Capitol actually with some fancy job offer from blue-eyed sexy fucker over there. I'm sure we could arrange something of that sort."

"I'm sure he could for you, my special boy. We'll see you around then, eh? No home?"

"Yes, home, Caesar. This is home."

* * *

**Zero.**

Hello again, Gloss, missed me, baby?

**~ Fin ~**

* * *

**I am thrilled to hear your opinion on the first one-shot I have written. I know, it was very strange. I might publish more if there is intrest because they are easy to write, less time-consuming and quite relaxing as fun side-projects.**

**Prompt that inspired this fic (as put by B.W.): One-shot where Marvel wins the 74th Hunger Games like a _true_ Career should.**

**New Reader Hungry for MOAR me?**

**More Romance and Marto: _Eternal _****_Damnation_ (Status: Complete)**

**Lighter Themes while Perserving Fast-Paced Drama: _Where the Sun Sets Early_ (Status: Discontinued - Idea turned into Original Novel)**

**Original Novel online February 1st on Wattpad. com under JaymeDray**

**Much Love,**

**J.D.**


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